


Midnight

by LibraOnFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Rimming, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2018-01-10 16:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraOnFire/pseuds/LibraOnFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm horrible with summaries, so sorry. Basically, the boys get it on. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight

“You're different with them. It's true,” Sam whispers, not quite coming out as an accusation but it feels like one, heavy and tight in his chest. His fingers card through his brother's hair, a familiar nightly ritual, while his heart beats an unnatural rhythm against Dean's ribcage. He waits for his breath to slow, for things to settle in the air around them. Lets Dean pretend to sleep, head resting next to Sam's, for an unknown amount of time before he draws a breath and blows it out over Dean's head. “That's why all those girls fall in love with you.” Sam shifts his body so the sides of his and Dean's shirts twist down between them toward the mattress they share, presses his right hip against Dean's left. 

 

He knows how he sounds. Jealous. Sam wonders if Dean knows it, wonders if Dean is working out exactly who Sam's jealous of.

 

Dean looks right at Sam then, what he can see of him with just the moon and stars lighting their room. “What d'you want me to say, Sam, huh?” He cups Sam's smooth jaw with one hand, letting the other spread over Sam's chest as he leans slightly over the lean frame of his brother. “Yeah, I can be gentle, be what they want for the night,” he agrees, kisses Sam just so to prove it, could be called chaste if it weren't for the fact that it's Sam he's kissing. 

“Wanna show'em how they _should_ be held, kissed, loved.” Dean bumps his knee against Sam's to emphasize his words and Sam is too quiet beneath him, knows his brother is stewing about something. “Fucked,” he adds succinctly when Sam still has nothing to say, twitching his hips forward, smirking when Sam's meet his instinctively on a breathy gasp. “Still so skinny,” he observes lightly, letting his hands come down to curl around Sam's hips, thumbs petting along the line of muscle starting to cut downward. “You'll be bigger one day, Sammy. You'll have a six pack, I know it,” Dean teases, one hand skimming up the flat surface of Sam's stomach, presses against the quivering there. 

Dean breathes in the smell of Sam—hotel bar soap and old books and something that's definitely just Sam—and sighs. “When you're that much older, after....” Dean inhales deeply when Sam's hands mirror his and shuts his mouth, lets that train of thought continue in his head before Sam forces it right out of his ears with a quiet whimper. 

“Show me,” Sam says, almost whining, which he does a lot these days. Dean doesn't have a thought for damn teenage hormones at the moment though, just hisses when Sam's fingertips slide between the waistband of Dean's boxers and abdomen, starts tugging the material down. “I wanna know, too.” 

Dean bites his lower lip and pauses the task of sliding Sam's boxers down, unaware that he was copying his brother's actions. He's loved Sam since day one, that's never been a question, but he'll be damned if Sam grows up thinking Dean tricked him into this. “Tell me, Sammy,” he groans, forcing his gaze from Sam's cock tenting the thin cotton that traps him. “Tell me what you want me to do.” 

“I'm nearly sixteen, Dean, I know what sex is,” Sam honest-to-god growls, the effect nearly lost against the blush of his cheeks barely visible in the dark space between them. “Touch me,” he demands. “Show me what you show them. Make me... Make me fall in love with you.” Dean searches Sam's face, holds his breath until he spots the tic at the corner of Sam's mouth that says he's leaving something out. 

“Oh god,” he breathes, tilts Sam's mouth down to his, barely touching. “Gotta tell me, Sammy. You gotta tell me right now.” 

Sam's fingers flutter against Dean's thighs, his cat-like eyes narrowing like there's pain involved, because there usually is when he's caught holding back an important piece of information. “Dean, I've always--.” Licks his lips and tries again, “You and me—.” but he can't finish, gasping, stealing the oxygen between their lips and blowing it back in warm puffs. 

It's close enough. 

Dean presses his mouth onto Sam's and feels his brother relax into it with relief, shivering when Sam's hands come back with firm certainty to continue sliding the fabric downward. 

“Me, too,” he murmurs. “Me, too, Sammy, oh god.” 

And Sam frees them both of the confines of their clothing in point five seconds flat, pulls Dean back over him. Dean takes his time, petting Sam's sides, patiently licks out the hums and whines and growls from Sam's mouth while Sam tries to take them right back from him. Sam's hands are impatient. They alternate between smoothing across Dean's back and lighting a fire just under Dean's skin where he grips Dean's hips, demands more with short upward thrusts. 

He leans back hastily, kneeling in the vee of Sam's thighs, has to take a minute to catch his breath and press a palm to the base of his cock to keep from creaming himself just from making out with his kid brother. That affords him a better view of Sam, which turns out _not_ to be the best idea if the hope is to stop himself from coming _right freaking now_. He nearly loses it at the sight his brother makes. 

Sam's spread out like a centerfold, all that sweat-slick skin damn near glowing in the moonlight, eyes glittering in the shadows like glass. His mouth is flushed dark red, a tempting moisture glistening across his bottom lip where his white teeth are pushing down into its kiss-swollen fullness like a promise. 

They haven't done more than make out but he looks thoroughly debauched, dark hair a messy swirling halo around his head and what takes the cake—or the pie, because god damn if Sam isn't a cherry pie right now—is the way one hand tugs at an abused-looking nipple while his other hand reaches two fingers into his mouth, sucking them fervently before removing them with a pop. Before Dean can wrap his head around what's going on, that hand is tucked down past Sam's blood-heavy cock, moving frantically in the shadowy place between Sam's legs and that motion is a dead giveaway if Sam's gasps aren't. 

Dean groans and grips himself more tightly, curling in on himself, feeling breathless already. “God damn, Sammy,” he huffs, gripping one of Sam's hips to steady himself. 

“Want it, Dean,” Sam whispers, licks his lips and stretches so his chest and his belly lift briefly into the air. “Want you, want you inside me, please.” He abandons his nipple to stroke himself languorously, spreads the shiny slick there around the head and his other hand slides free of himself to reach for Dean's forearm. “Please, Dean.”

Fuck all if Dean can deny Sam anything when he asks for it like that. Dean shifts closer, scoops his hands under Sam's ass to tilt his hips upward onto his lap. Sam moans and his hand stutters on his cock when Dean guides himself to that recently vacated whorl of muscle. It's wet with Sam's spit and Dean strokes the muscle with the tip of his cock, spreading his own wetness there. “Don't wanna hurt you, Sammy,” he explains, lifts Sam's hips higher so he can plant a kiss where Sam's thin fingers have been. “Gotta get you ready for me.” 

Sam shudders under his mouth and Dean licks his lips, presses his face down to lick and kiss and suck at Sam's rim. He hooks his hands around Sam's thighs, his fingertips down far enough to spread Sam's cheeks, tightens his tongue to a point and pushes it into his brother. He answers Sam's low, throaty moans with a pleased hum and Sam shivers all over, presses up into Dean's face. 

“Jesus, god, Dean,” Sam moans brokenly. “Do it already, c'mon.” Dean brushes away the finger that Sam tries to slip in next to his tongue. 

“Not yet, Sammy. Gonna fuck you open with my tongue first,” he growls, curling and twisting his tongue inside of Sam, his saliva slicking the way and running down to the tight sac of Sam's balls. His spit cools too quickly on his chin next to the warmth radiating from Sam's center. Sam's always run hot though, his skin naturally dewy and constantly inviting Dean to nip at his shoulders or run his hand through the sweat-damp curls at the base of his neck. He doesn't have to hold back now though and he takes what he can, fingers absently tugging and teasing at the short hairs surrounding Sam's dick. 

Dean pulls up for air and promises darkly between kisses, “Gonna fuck you so full of my cock, baby boy. You won't walk straight for a week.” Sam writhes and moans under his brother at those words, letting their meaning spread and coil down low in his belly. He's hotter than any pay-per-view porn star Dean's ever seen, hotter because it's Sam, and Dean can't wait anymore. He spits into his hand, spreads it quickly over his cock and he can hardly believe this is actually happening. Sam spreads his legs further apart, drapes one over Dean's shoulder and pulls him closer. 

“I—God dammit, Sam---” he grits out, an unspoken apology if this is more pain than Sam can take at first, but he looks like he's able to manage, judging by the way he thrusts upward, takes the reins right out of Dean's hands and fucks up onto his brother's cock and doesn't stop until Dean's bottomed out and breathless. His knees shake, chest tight like he's run twenty miles, and he wraps his hands around the knee resting on his shoulder for balance. He counts to sixty, trying not to rut into Sam like he's some kind of cheap whore to use up and toss out in the morning. 

'Course, leave it to Sam to blow shit out of the water. Whether he's picking a fight with their dad or training with Dean, he doesn't half-ass anything. “C'mon, Dean,” Sam hisses, leans up and wraps wet fingers around the base of Dean's cock where Dean's nearly disappeared into his body. “Fuck me like you mean it.” 

Dean's eyes almost roll back into his head. He pulls out, knows Sam feels that burning stretch like a brand to his asshole, and churns down into the hot slick of his brother, head catching at the rim and slamming back into Sam. Sam slumps back down flat and his voice is wrecked when he cries out, pleads and prays to god and Dean in turns, begging for more and harder, so Dean gives it to him. 

He slides them down so they're chest to chest, braces himself on his knees on either side of Sam's ass, his elbows under the curve of Sam's uplifted arms. It's a thousand degrees in here but it's hotter in Sam's body, in the barely there space between their open gasping mouths. Sam's panting raggedly, his hips shaking every time Dean slams down into him. The sound of their skin slapping should be louder but the blood rushing in Dean's ears mutes every noise that isn't a swear or a promise or a plea from Sam's lips. He presses wet open-mouthed kisses along Sam's jaw, up into the hollow just behind his ear, licks away the sweat there and muffles his groans against Sam's neck. “Can't last much longer, Sammy,” he admits with a gasp, brushes Sam's neck with his lips and fucks down as hard as he can. 

Sam gives as good as he gets, pushing upward as hard as Dean's pushing down. Sam grabs a perfect handful of Dean's ass and jerks, encouraging him to go faster, harder, until the throb of pain is level with the heat of his brother's cock filling him. It's like there's always been a line of gunpowder between them and someone finally threw down a match. He's on fire with the heat of Dean's cock branding its way into his ass, the way Dean's body presses tightly against him, trapping his aching dick between their bellies. 

“C'mon, Sam,” Dean growls, tongue darting out to trace the delicate shell of his ear. “You gonna come with my cock inside you, baby boy?” 

Sam slams his eyes shut and sees stars when Dean arches downward suddenly, the perfect wet pressure that has him coming, fiery pulses pushing out of his cock, coating their stomachs in rhythmic bursts that have his ass clamping down like a vice around his brother's dick. Dean loses it with a startled moan when Sam's ass clenches tight and convulses around him. Gasping, Dean pushes forward just that little bit more and displaces his suddenly liquefied spine as far up into Sam's ass as he can grind it. His hips twitch and stutter to a halt and he holds himself there, pressed tight against Sam with a grimace. 

Sam's breathing evens out before Dean's, slows while he watches his brother's face for signs of distress. He doesn't want to hear anything about “a mistake” or “can't ever repeat this” kind of crap. He knows Dean loves him, knows he's been pushing it lately with simple touches that linger a little too long, catching Dean's eye and holding his gaze until Dean blushes and suddenly has to wash the Impala. Sam sighs, relieved, when Dean slowly opens his eyes, his heart revealed in that single look. 

Dean rubs soothingly along the hard muscle of Sam's calf, places a kiss at the bend of his knee and lowers his brother's leg before slowly pulling out of Sam's body. His eyes flutter and there's a dark hunger in his face when he finally lies down next to Sam. 

“Sam,” he whispers, turning his brother's face toward his own and kissing him softly. “Sam, Sammy.” He prays that this is what Sam really wanted, that this will never be something Sam looks back on and regrets. He lets those thoughts through into his fingers, stroking Sam's still round cheeks, stroking down his neck to his collar bone, then cleans them up with one of their shirts. Sam goes along with a satisfied sound after Dean tosses the shirt into a corner and pulls him close, their arms wrapping around each other in the stillness of the room. 

He presses his face into Dean's neck and realizes dazedly that he's crying. “Shh, Sammy, shh.” Dean rubs circles into his back. “Didn't mean to hurt you, baby, I'm so sorry, shh.” That makes Sam choke on a watery laugh and he squeezes his arms around Dean. 

“Not hurt, Dean,” he mutters weakly. “Just been loving you so long and now--” He cuts himself off to suck in a shaky breath and quiets himself, tears slowing eventually. Dean's heartbeat is a solid thump, a sound he's been falling asleep and waking up to since he could remember. 

“I know, baby boy. Been loving you all my life.” Dean presses a kiss to Sam's forehead and he tucks a tendril of Sam's hair behind his ear. His finger follows the line of Sam's jaw, rests under his chin and tilts his face up. “Been loving you all my life, Sammy, nothing's gonna change that.” 

Sam wishes that were true, almost believes it when Dean says it like that. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please be aware that not using the proper lubrication during anal sex is a big fat no-no! The sex described in this fic is precisely that--fictional. It is by no means an instruction manual for realistic and/or pleasurable anal sex. But I was in a hurry, so poor little Sammy's butt got the raw end of the deal. (Did you see what I did there?! lulz)


End file.
